


The Taste

by pkmntrainer_alex



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Creampie, Edgeplay, F/M, Grinding, I have regrets but this sure ain’t one of em, I wrote this for myself and one channel of a discord server, Knifeplay, Loss of Virginity, Pleading, Self-Harm But It's Kinky, reluctance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26332498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pkmntrainer_alex/pseuds/pkmntrainer_alex
Summary: When there's nowhere left for you to go, the best way to stay alive in an active war zone is to stay invisible.
Relationships: Vinsmoke Sanji/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	The Taste

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is SPECIFICALLY Sanji if his modifications had been successful - so no emotions, not really  
> \- I rolled with the headcanons I've seen floating around that Germa!Sanji would've been even more psychotic than Niji tends to be  
> \- No part of this fic was written to be noncon

You should have evacuated. There had been word that the fighting was rapidly creeping further and further inland. It was smarter and safer to retreat. Everyone else evacuated. You should have as well. Would have, could have, should have. 

And didn’t. What point was there? If the mercenaries _were_ Germa 66, as the rumors carried on the wind claimed, there was nowhere you could go that they wouldn't find you. Nowhere safe for anyone to go. Not on this island, not anymore. You stayed behind, thinking the mercenaries wouldn’t bother with someone like you, invisible and quiet little you, unnoticed even by your own family and neighbors. Cloaked in as many layers as you could think to hide your figure, you slept alone in your bed the night before, listening to the far-off sound of explosions and gunfire. Coming closer. Women don’t fare well in any wars - and despite having stayed, you didn’t want to give misfortune a reason to tip its hand in your direction. The best you could do was to be invisible - to those who would help, to those who would hinder. It’s safer. Much safer.

And it all ends up being for naught anyway when you awaken to a stranger on top of you, hands around your wrists and legs on either side of yours. His face is directly above you, the tips of your noses touching, and his eyes are a bright, shiny shade of blue. Half his face is hidden under a black mask, but you can see the outline of a mouth through the fabric when you frantically dart your eyes downwards. The corners of his mouth are tipped up  _ just so _ in a smile, and you can feel his hair brushing against your cheek. Worse still - you have no idea how long he’s been waiting like this, pressed against you and watching you sleep.

Your lungs freeze, keeping you from screaming - not that it would’ve mattered anyway; all around you, you can hear explosions, artillery fire, and screaming. All you can do is stare into those eyes as the hidden smile grows bigger - along with the unmistakable hardness between your legs, where his pelvis aligns with yours.

“You’re finally awake.”

No response. You can’t think of one to give him. Breathing rapidly, your eyes rake over his face, over his wide eyes, the black hair almost covering one entirely. His right eye is completely exposed, staring down at you, and the eyebrow above twists into a spiral at the end. He’s wearing headphones, and you can see 66 on both sides.  _ One of the mercenaries. _

“You’re not going to talk?” He sits back slightly, still holding your arms through the layers upon layers of clothing you’d thrown on the night before. You can see then that he’s dressed differently than the soldiers you’d been warned about - fully in black from head to toe, with a double-breasted jacket and belt with a skull on the buckle. Your swallow hard as you come to the realization that this uniform likely denotes a superior position amongst the mercenaries - a commander, possibly. Not that it makes a difference. You will not fare well regardless. “That’s fine. I don’t need you to talk.”

“Please don’t kill me.” Your voice is panicked, but oddly there’s no trace of fear. Beneath your layers, you can feel yourself already drenched in sweat. Even if you get away from this stranger, where could you go now? The battle is raging all around you. “I don’t know anything that could be of use to you, please. I’m just a civilian, I don’t -”

Your voice cuts off suddenly when he lets go of one wrist, pulling his hand back. His gauntlets are white, almost gleamingly so, and your eyes follow his hand to his waist, where he pulls a knife from somewhere. The black is the blackest obsidian, as dark as his uniform - as dark as his hair - and he brings it right up against your throat. You don’t even dare to swallow as he presses the flat of the blade to your neck, those bright blue eyes watching you without blinking.

Quick as a flash, he pulls the blade downward, slicing through the topmost layer of your clothes with ease. You flinch, too fast to even close your eyes, and see that smile growing larger still. He doesn’t seem to be mocking you - it’s almost as if he’s in a trance, with his wide eyes and frantic breathing, looking away from you just to follow his knife as he pulls it from collar to navel, stopping safely short of where his pelvis is continuing to press into you. When the heavy, dirty layers slide away to expose your bare skin beneath, you hear him suck in a breath, grinding against you lewdly as you try to remember how to breathe.

With the flat of the blade, he pushes your clothes the rest of the way off you, turning them onto the bed at your sides. Your belly goes taut as he trails his knife just against your skin, sowing patches of goosebumps everywhere it touches. One flick of the blade in the wrong direction, and blood will flow. Not that you’re unfamiliar with the sight of your own blood - how often had you nicked your finger in everyday life? There was that sharp bite, heat, and that metallic smell that was so strong you could taste it.

What’s a little more spilt blood in a war zone, after all?

You snap back out of your thought when he touches your chest with the knife, again with the flat of the blade, just grazing the nipple. The sensation catches you off-guard, and you let out a sound that is half-gasp, half-whine. It’s almost...a pleasant feeling, and the tingle of pleasure is almost shameful as it radiates down between your legs. You squirm beneath your unwelcome guest, and you feel a throb where his body meshes against yours.

“Ah...you  _ do _ like it.” His trance has broken for a moment as he fixes you in his gaze again. There’s delight in his voice, as quiet as it is, and he traces the undersides of your bare tits with the point of the knife. It’s as sharp as you knew it would be, but his touch is just light enough that he’s leaving barely a scratch. That brings with it more pleasure, shivers over your skin that make you twitch again. Nobody’s ever touched you in such a way - blade or not. He releases your wrists completely as he brings his hands to his face, pulling down the mask that covered most of it. As you had anticipated, his mouth is pulled into a wide smile. “That will make this even more fun.”

“Please don’t kill -”

“Don’t worry.” Just as quickly as he cut your clothes, the knife is at your lips, pressing against them and silencing you. The point catches on your upper lip, just barely piercing it as you once again try to remain motionless. Blood trickles into your mouth, flavoring your tongue with iron, and you see his smile grow as his eyes focus on your small wound. “I wouldn’t kill a woman.”

The knife is on your skin again, pressed against your side, and the mercenary has heaved himself forward against you, mouth fastening over yours with no hesitation. As the building shakes with the force of an explosion outside, you feel his tongue sweep against where his blade pierced you, eagerly lapping at the blood still trickling out. You kiss him back, out of a combination of not knowing what else to do and - though you are reluctant to admit it - desire. His mouth is warm, with a sharp taste to it that’s quickly overpowered by your blood. You can tell when he catches a drop or two on his tongue when he moans into your mouth, body shuddering over yours.

His blade and his knuckles dig into your ribs, with his other hand holding your jaw firmly in place. Further down, he begins grinding against you again, and you spread your legs a little wider. The wider you spread, the more pressure he applies, and the more warm tingles of pleasure you feel. After a bit, he lets go of your jaw to move his hand to your chest, his gloved hand rough against your sensitive skin. His touch competes for your attention against the knife, as he strokes it along your curves in an almost loving gesture. It dips against your skin between every rib, tucks in at your waist, and slips over your hips, scraping against you all the while.

The pleasure is almost maddening. You stop being able to hear the shouting and gunfire outside over your combined breathing and gasping. He stops abruptly, and brings the knife back to your lips.

“Kiss it.”

You obey, noticing that you are trembling again as you plant kisses over the black blade and hilt. Despite having spent so long against your body, it’s cold against your lips. In the meantime, the heat and pressure between your legs, even with his pants and what’s left of your layers in the way, is frustrating and distracting. As you kiss his knife, you can hear him unbuckling his pants, lifting himself from between your legs for a fraction of a moment. His smile hasn’t budged, and his blue eyes are unblinking.

“Good.” The knife moves downwards again, cutting the rest of the way through your clothes, moving past his original stopping point. He wastes no time in throwing it all open, exposing the rest of your body beneath with a gleam in his eyes that makes your breathing catch for a moment. There’s a small, wet sound as he drops back down to where he was, and your hips jerk when you feel something firm and hot pressing into your sensitive bare skin.

He adjusts himself, twitching between your legs and sliding down a bit against your body. The sensations are impossible to ignore, and another moan/whine slips past your lips. You know what’s coming next - what this stranger, this enemy attacking your homeland, intends to do with you. But before you can tense back up or come to your senses, you see him raising his knife again.

“Have you done this before?” His voice is as quiet as ever, but you don’t anticipate your answer will change a thing. 

You shake your head, and he brings one gloved hand to his mouth, biting the fingertips and pulling it off. He lets it fall back out of his mouth onto the bed beside you, raking his black hair from his eyes with bare fingertips before bringing the knife to his hand. You watch, as if in a trance now yourself, as it pushes into the skin of his palm as though it were nothing. He bites down on his lip as he pulls it up, cutting his palm and creeping up a finger, blood blooming at the slice and flowing down past his wrist. A groan - the loudest noise he’s made since you noticed his presence in your room - forces its way out of him, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cut or from how he’s beginning to push his way inside you.

As he jerks his hips forward to fully immerse himself in you, he brings his cut hand to your face, clamping down over your mouth as your own hands grip the bedding in tight fists. The taste of him fills your mouth the way his cock is filling your cunt, and you lick at his wound the way he indulged in yours earlier. You treat yourself to the entire length, letting his blood mix with your saliva, and then you know for sure why he’s moaning so desperately. When he fills you all the way, he assumes his position from earlier directly on top of you, head resting just to the side of yours, hand not budging from your mouth. The knife is back against you once more, where it belongs, teasing your ribs on the opposite side. Laying fully on top of you as he is, you notice for the first time a cape at his back, reaching to the back of his knees. Even in your throes of lust, it’s impossible to miss the large white _3_ in the midst of all the blackness.

More than a commander. One of the four captain commanders, from what you knew of the mercenaries - and a  _ prince. _ You linger on the thought for a brief instant before suckling at his hand more, wrapping your legs around his waist as he roughly pumps in and out of you. Any pain or discomfort between your legs is muddled by the taste of his blood in your mouth, keeping you constantly trembling with pleasure. Just short of being completely overwhelmed, you nuzzle your face into his black hair and breathe deep. He smells faintly of cigarette smoke.

It goes on for a while, likely longer than you can fully perceive, before you notice him raising his body just the slightest fraction over yours. Against your skin, the wet and hot skin right above where he’s buried inside you, you feel the cold flat of the blade pressing down.

“That’s good.” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself as he resumes thrusting, his motions moving your body beneath the knife. Its edges scrap your skin with every movement, but the cold pressure is making you twist more than you had been before. The more you shake, the broader he smiles, lifting his head to smile down at you. Your eyes meet his, and you shut them tightly as you rub your tongue on his palm. “That’s so good. Isn’t it good?”

You feel your legs squeezing him tighter as you pull on your sheets, rocking your hips and feeling every millimeter of the blade on you. There’s a tightness, in your core and in your cunt, squeezing tighter and tighter with every thrust. It’s a sensation you know, however vaguely, and you drink it in willingly as you pull in strained breaths through your nose. Your body heat increases, as does the volume of sweat you feel dripping down your forehead. The tension grows, hitting its peak as he buries himself inside you with a final almighty thrust, dropping his face back against your neck and biting down hard.

If there’s pain, it goes unnoticed as your body acknowledges pleasure and pleasure alone. There’s a rapid increase in heat, in wetness, and your fists release to claw at the bed. The mercenary sits up just enough to free his blade from between the two of you and collapse back into place as you continue bucking and arching your back. Any cries you try to make are stopped by his hand, still bleeding freely against your tongue, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the tensing and releasing of muscles, waves of pleasure, and the taste of his blood in your mouth.

When he finally pulls out of you, mutely, your energy is spent and you are only somewhat aware of where you are and what is going on around you. Bit by bit, you can hear the gunfire outside of your windows, but less than before. The explosions are fewer and farther away, only shaking the foundation the slightest bit. Still in a daze, you watch as he finally climbs off of you, tucking himself back into his pants as he slides his glove back on. You can see that his hand is still bleeding.

You sit up, propping yourself on your hands, finally feeling all the cuts and scrapes on your body, the pain in your upper lip and between your legs. There’s the sensation of something dripping out of you as well. Before you can ask a question - or even think of a question - he turns back to you with those blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t kill a woman,” he repeats his line from earlier, pulling his mask back over the bottom half of his face once more. “But my brothers will.”

The 3 on his cape. That means at least two more brothers, but you recall having heard of four in total. “What am I supposed to do?” You ask, pulling your ripped layers of clothes back into place in an attempt to conceal yourself. It’s a fruitless endeavor - what was once more than enough before is ruined beyond saving now.

Beneath the mask, you see him smiling again. “What you did before I found you.”

He barely finishes his sentences before vanishing completely, winking out of existence as though he had never been there in the first place. You jump slightly, clutching your tattered clothes in shock.

“Be invisible.”


End file.
